Yes, it is clear that the morning sun has risen again. He stretches as tall as he can and folds paper aeroplanes. Is that music playing he hears? No. Shouting. Neighbours expressing their broken vows to one another. And even so, he knows that if he opens his apartment door, only the hallway will greet him. 400 units or more in this glass and concrete community. Vague nods to the occasional dweller in the elevator. Distance practiced with surprising ease. Isn't all blood the same type of hand cream? But it is never enough. Nothing ever is. His wings might be a figment of his desperation, but still they can carry him from the roof to the ground. Yes, it is clear that the morning sun has risen again. He stretches as tall as he can and folds paper aeroplanes. Flicking his lighter, starting a fire. Better to burn now before the coffee has finished brewing.